


Playing House

by WifeTadashi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Sex, Brainwashing, Breeding, Cissexism, Dubious Consent, Forced Crossdressing, Gender Roles, Gender or Sex Swap, Homophobia, Hypnotism, M/M, Mind Control, Minor/Implied Kindaichi Yuutarou/Kunimi Akira, Misgendering, Oral Sex, Sexism, Transphobia, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21961258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WifeTadashi/pseuds/WifeTadashi
Summary: Oikawa Tooru is the perfect man. So, the question must be begged as to why he was still single. One could guess that he was waiting for the perfect woman—and one would be half-right.He's waiting for the perfect boy to make his perfect woman out of.
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 144





	Playing House

**Author's Note:**

> You are responsible for your own online experience. If you continue despite warnings about potential triggers, knowing you are sensitive to said triggers, I will not be held accountable for any harm that befalls you.
> 
> It should go without saying, but none of what this work contains is condoned in the contexts of real life. Especially since magic isn't real. 
> 
> Included within this story is instances of homophobia, cissexism and other transphobic ideas, misgendering, sexism and outdated gender roles, hypnosis and mind control, rape apologism, unwilling gender transformation, and pregnancy. These range in severity, from only used once to consistent. Please exercise caution.
> 
> Also included are three very, very brief allusions to kinkuni, if that ship is somehow so detestable to one of you those would be a dealbreaker. No judgement, just confusion.

Tadashi was caught in the middle of an argument. An argument that consisted of himself, and trying to determine if he was awake or not. Neither side seemed to have the advantage; the world around him seeming fleeting and ungraspable, immaterial, would lend to the position of his being asleep, but it is, perhaps, cancelled out by the fact that every time he stops thinking, which is often, he finds himself jolting back into thought sometime later, as if waking up. It vaguely occurs to him that he might be going in circles, but he can’t really remember what talking points he has and hasn’t used, so he can’t be sure. 

He is, however, fairly certain his brain is going as soft as whatever he’s laying on. 

His vision is blurred, and everything feels slow, but he’s pretty sure there’s a warm, gentle light somewhere above him. Or he thinks it’s above him, at least, as he’s not really sure which was is up or down. The light, if it is a light, which he’s pretty sure it is, is not doing a very good job as a light, as the rest of the immediate area still seems pretty dark. Also, he sees lots of tiny yellow things on a string, which he thinks might also be lights, but ones that do an even worse job than the light on what may or may not be the ceiling. 

It occurs to him, slowly, that he may not be just sleepy, but rather, on drugs. He doesn’t know what to do with this revelation, so he continues to lay on what seems to be a pile of blankets and pillows, surrounded by thin curtains that drape from above like a tent, or… a pillow fort. Yes, a pillow fort. 

He’s on drugs in a pillow fort. 

He blinks slowly. 

The idea to get up does not occur to him, but that’s just as well, given his legs would almost definitely not cooperate with him. 

He notices he’s not falling asleep as often, but beyond that dim observation, he lays there, unmoving, as his mind slows to a stop from his previous little debate with himself.

Instead, he just perceives, not really with any intent to discern his location or situation. Dim lights. Pillow fort. Sweater. That one’s new. Or, not so much new as much as he’s only just noticed. It’s big on him. Sea foam green. Accompanied by thigh highs, a few shades lighter than the sweater but otherwise matching. The sweater almost meets them, so he can’t tell if he’s wearing anything else underneath. It occurs to him that this is worrying, and resolves to be worried as soon as his head remembers what being worried feels like. It also occurs to him that something in the fort smells like cologne. It can’t be him, because he doesn’t wear cologne. He is wearing a sweater, though, that does not seem to be his. It seems like he can safely say that the sweater smells like cologne, because it was previously worn by someone who does wear cologne. 

He doesn’t know what to do with this information, so when he starts being sleepy again, he doesn’t fight it. 

It's darker when he wakes up next. Probably because the light is off and the string lights aren't that great at compensating. Also, that someone is looming over him probably doesn't help.

It takes him a second, but it does register that he should probably react to that, at least a little.

The stranger's hands keep him from jolting up, however, pressing firmly on his shoulders. He thinks it's a stranger, at least, but his face is obscured by shadow, so he supposes he can’t be sure. He’s also not sure if he’d be able to recognize someone he knew in this state, so it’s just as well, really.

“Do you like it?” The stranger asks, apparently unaware that Tadashi very much doubts his ability to respond meaningfully. Or just not needing a response from the boy, who is only just now noticing his head is resting on the stranger’s lap. “I put this all together for you, after all. So it’d be nice and calming,” he continues, bringing a hand to stroke at Tadashi’s cheek, the other slipping under his arm to pull him closer, that he’d be leaning against the man’s chest. “This is for both of us. That’s the first thing I have to teach you. Everything I’ve done and am going to do… it’s for you as much as it is for me. We can make each other happy.”

The stranger’s thumb ghosts across Tadashi’s lips, before his hand dips down. Slowly, he hikes up the sweater. Tadashi watches silently as the cotton piece is lifted, inch by inch, bunching up as it goes. When the stranger stops, his fingers slip under to pinch at the smaller boy’s nipple, a little amused noise breathed into Tadashi’s ear when he whines. 

At this point, with the sweater out of the way, he realizes he’s wearing shorts. Very small shorts. Hence their being hidden until now. 

He realizes this because another hand had, while he was distracted by the fingers now teasing his nipples, begun to play at their rim. The stranger doesn’t seem to be in much of a rush, content to slip his fingers in one at a time, before pulling them down with his thumb, unveiling yet another revelation; he was wearing lingerie. 

The first thought in Tadashi’s mind was that these were not the panties he had at home. 

The second is that something about this should worry him.

And while his heart is pounding, it’s not from fear. Rather, it’s for the same reason his breath is getting warmer, his face hotter, and the bulge in the soft, flattering panties was getting bigger.

His eyes flutter as the stranger pushes into the panties, palming at Tadashi’s cock.

“I promise… one day you’ll wake up, and you’ll realize that, from the beginning, I have always that I had your best interests at heart. I’m protecting you from harm and worry, giving you a life where you can just be plump and lazy for me. I’ll dress you pretty, in soft, warm clothes, give you baths, keep your skin so smooth and hairless and lovely. You just have to make me happy, and even then… I’ll make sure you’re doing that for you. You can just sit there, and I’ll make you everything I need you to be.”

Something in Tadashi’s stomach twists, but all Tadashi can do is go slack as his cock is toyed with, all but putty in the hands of a man whose face he can’t even see. Quivering, he can’t even squirm as he’s caught between the sensations on his chest and in his panties. Whatever is keeping him down isn’t willing to give even as he begins crying, the stranger humming pleasantly in his ear as he works. 

“Mmm… see what happens when you let me take care of you? It feels good, right? It can be like this forever. Just let me handle everything from now on, okay?”

And Tadashi nods. Partially because he’s not sure what’s going on, but mostly because the stranger’s words sound so sweet, caring, and kind, and overstimulation aside, he feels good. The stranger keeps rambling about how he’ll take care of Tadashi, how all Tadashi needs to do is let him take control, and keeps pumping at Tadashi’s cock, abusing his nipples. 

Then the man stops, just as Tadashi is about to come. 

“Promise me,” he asks, “that you’ll be mine.” 

And Tadashi can only nod again.

“With words. Tell me you want me take your burdens for you so you can be my happy little doll.”   
  


Tadashi’s mouth is traitorous. His tongue feels fat, heavy, as his lips move uselessly, trying to form words but only letting out little gasps and aborted sounds. 

“It’s okay, little doll. Take your time.” 

“I,” he finally manages, desperately, “I wanna… want to be your doll,” he continues with great effort as if it’s taking everything his body has. “I promise… yours!” 

And the stranger gives a final pump of his fist, and the front of the lingerie is painted with his cum.

“Good,” the stranger approves, “already such a sweet girl for me.” 

Silence follows, filled only with the sound of a hand gliding over Tadashi’s skin as the stranger pets his side. It’s very distracting, Tadashi thinks, as he wonders why those last few words out of the man’s mouth seemed wrong. 

“I have one last present for you today,” the stranger says, reaching to the side. 

A cute, pink collar is around his neck before he can so much as flinch at it.

“My name is Oikawa Tooru. You can call me Tooru, okay? Or master, if you like,” he jokes, his smile audible. “One day, you’ll be Mrs. Oikawa. For today, though,” he plays with a tag attached to the collar, “you’ll be my Tamami. I hope you like it.”

A kiss is pressed to his cheek in the same moment a needle pierces his arm, and in the same moment that he remembers exactly what is wrong here. 

He passes out still wearing a pair of panties with his cream in them, with the sound of a camera shutter following him to the darkness.

The blackness recedes, eventually. Though, he couldn’t tell you how long it had held him. 

It takes Tadashi a full ten minutes to remember that the man brushing his hair is ‘Tooru’. Ten minutes to remember he’s doesn’t recognize where he is, ten minutes to remember he doesn’t know how he got here, ten minutes to remember he’s wearing clothes he doesn’t own. And a full ten minutes to remember that Tooru had jacked him off and let him fall asleep in soiled clothes, had probably kidnapped him, and had given him a collar with a girl’s name on it, all whilst calling him a doll and insinuating that he intends to make a wife of him and make all his decisions for him.

Or, at least, it seems like ten minutes by Tadashi’s estimate. He concedes it’s not very likely to be correct, but it felt like ten minutes, and he doesn’t have any evidence to the contrary. 

The room is also different than before, which, to his relief, does not take his brain nearly as much time to process as before, coming to the conclusion almost immediately after opening his eyes. That’s good. The feeling of someone sitting on his brain like a beanbag chair was not very pleasant, so he likes that he’s at least a little less slow than when he first woke up.

But also, it still feels like there’s an indent where that someone was sitting. 

It’s the small victories, he supposes.

Tooru produces a water bottle out of nowhere. Well, probably not nowhere, but Tadashi hadn’t seen it before now, so he does waste a few seconds being confused as he watches his captor and supposedly future husband lift the open bottle to his lips… and drags his tongue around the rim instead of drinking it. A moment later, it’s at Tadashi’s lips instead, pressing against them as Tooru makes what he can only assume are meant to be coaxing noises. 

But some part of Tadashi thinks accepting a drink from him is a very, very bad idea, and even as the rim presses more insistently, he holds his lips into a firm straight line. 

“Naughty,” Tooru chides, before pressing two fingers to the nose of his ‘doll’. “But I’m not mad. Remember…” he says, squeezing, “I’m doing this for you, too.”

Tadashi’s mouth opens against his will as his body desperately gasps for air, begging. He’s only met with water, as Tooru forces the bottle into the opening, tilting it and Tadashi’s head back as he gags, before his body forces him to swallow. Soon, his lips are wrapped around the rim of that bottle just as Tooru had wanted. Rubbing a finger against Tadashi’s chin like one would a dog, he smiles. He only pulls the bottle away to let Tadashi breathe when they bottle empties, and Tadashi can only assume Tooru doesn’t particularly care if his doll loses a few brain cells to lack of oxygen. 

The water leaves a salty aftertaste, which he’s fairly sure is something water generally does not do.

Panting, a bit of drool running down the side of his face as his limbs turn to jelly, a camera shutter goes off once again. A phone is held out for him to see, though, even with the preceding noise, it takes a moment for him to realize it’s not a mirror. He sees himself, the drool across his face… it’s noticeably angled so his eyes aren’t in the picture, and Tooru’s thumb is pressed against his cheek. He also realizes, for the first time, that the sweater has been replaced by a lacy bra. Tooru follows his gaze, and, setting the phone down, begins idly playing with it’s clasp, and tracing along its edges. 

“You look so cute like this. Makes me want to keep you like this forever… but you’ll build up a tolerance eventually. Plus, it’d be mean… I know that somewhere in there, under all the taint and pollution they put in your mind about ‘personhood’ and ‘independence’ and being a man… you can’t wait to be my cute little wife, all dolled up for me, making me happy and carrying our children.” He breathes out, fondness written on his face. “That little, uncorrupted part of you... is begging me to scrub away the burdens they’ve put on you and let someone else do the thinking for you, is thrilled at the knowledge that I’ll take care of you and you’ll take care of me… it’d be cruel to keep you here forever, neglecting your need to please your husband.”

He pulls Tadashi into a kiss, lips locking, depriving his doll air for the second time since he’s woken. “Don’t worry. As soon as I can be sure you’re clean enough that you won’t kick up some misguided fuss once I’ve weaned you off these drugs… I’ll put you in cute dresses, help you learn how to do your make up the way I like, teach you all about your responsibilities. It’ll be great. I can’t wait to see how happy you are as my doting wife, ready to suck my cock to reward me after a long day of work…”

Tadashi sat in silence, horror fighting to surface from beneath the murk that was his emotions. Speaking wasn’t even an issue of effort, the words, however broken and jumbled, coming forth without him even willing them. “W...where, when, I…”

“See? Those questions of yours… so unnecessary and upsetting. Aren’t you tired of worrying and thinking all the time? I’m going to take those away for you. No more worries, no more thinking, no more jobs or bills… just me, and my lovely, stupid wife, and eventually a gaggle of kids so you can be a happy, fulfilled mommy too.”

“No more need for making hard decisions. I can make them for you, and I will,” he stated as if it were the most simple, trivial, and factual concept in the world, standing.

He paused as he opened a door, only a few feet away but seeming almost a mile to Tadashi, finger above a switch. “Including this one,” he smiled briefly, before his face fell into something blank. “No hard choices means you don’t get a choice in this, either. I’ve already done it for you, so you can just lay back and let me show you exactly how you were meant to be.” 

Turning away from him, his finger pushes down, and the already dim lights go dark, leaving Tooru as a silhouette in the doorway. Facing away from him, he speaks one last time, before the door closes and Tadashi is sealed in the dark. 

“And Tamami?” he asks. “Forget those questions, my dear little doll. They’re not important. And if they were, they wouldn’t be for you to worry about. Soon, the only questions you’ll need will be ‘what would my husband like to see me in today’ and ‘what does the love of my life want to eat tonight’. So forget those silly, pointless questions to make room for more important things, like how you can best thank me.” As he speaks, he sounds so fond and wistful. “In fact, forget everything from your old life, especially your icky old name. You’re Tamami, future proud wife of the handsome Tooru, who you adore and love pleasing. It’s what you were born for, and there’s nothing you look forward to more than being round with his kids and hanging off his arm at parties like the perfect trophy wife everyone envies.”

He stands still for several moments after he finishes, daydreaming about the wife his little doll would be. Wide hips, nice tits, thin waist, and a juicy ass. Exactly what both he and his Tamami deserved.

He closes the door behind him without so much as a goodnight, pulling out a phone full of pictures of a sweet, weepy, inebriated twink at a gay bar several miles from his high-end home, having just been abandoned by his parents, bereft of any place to stay. Looking at him, Tooru had seen him for what he was; a wife-to-be, begging for someone to take care of her and tell her exactly what to do so she didn’t have to strain her poor, stupid little brain. And he offered her a place to stay. It was a little more permanent than she’d thought, but she’d appreciate what he was doing for her. Enough so that he wouldn’t even have to ask her to return the favor of taking such good care of her, being just as willing and enthusiastic to cook his meals, get dolled up for him, and take his cock as he was willing and enthusiastic to make her decisions for her, buying her dresses he’d like to see her in (she’d be so thrilled to look good for him soon enough), and giving her the enviable privilege of servicing his cock and having his brats.

He clutched the phone a little tighter, holding it close to his chest as he lay on his bed, just outside the walk-in he had turned into a nest for his budding bride, having reached the photos of his doll dressed up and sleepy. And then he reached towards his cock, needing to tend to the erection he’d had from telling Tamami all about her life plans, and having plenty of fodder by which to do so. The closet pictures were particularly titillating.

How ironic, he thought as he scanned his selection, that both of her lives would begin in a closet—and that the first would end in one.

In the closet, Tamami lay in the dark, trying and failing to hold onto the despair he felt when he realized he had true and well forgotten his name, Tamami taking it’s vacant place. No matter how hard he tried to worry, it always slipped between his fingers like sand. 

Tamami would try again and again, until she forgot what she was upset about, suddenly tired, and fell asleep.

Tooru, having came in the same moment Tamami forgot, rolled over in bed, to look at the closet door. He would sleep like a baby that night, knowing that tomorrow, he could spend all day with his bride and help her remember her place so she could be at peace. And so he could have the wife he was meant to have, perfect to the last detail, and completely, totally dependant on him, so in love she’d never think of anything he didn’t tell her to.

-

When his consciousness resurfaces from the fog, it’s dark. Either that, or his eyes are still closed. He’s putting his money on the second, because Tooru seems to be doing something with his eyelids and he’s pretty sure that would be hard to do with the lights off. 

“Awake already? Hold still, dear,” Tooru hums, not pausing in his efforts. “Not every girl has a man who would take the time to help her with her makeup, so you should thank me later, Tamami-chan.”

Tamami.

Tamami Tamami Tamami.

This wasn’t his name. It was a girl’s name. He had another name, a boy’s name.

He just couldn’t find it anymore. His name was lost to him. Was it still there, wandering, looking for him as much as he was looking for it? Had Tooru just painted over it, and it was still in there somewhere, for him to find if he searched, thought hard enough? Were there walls for him to tear down, holes to dig? Or did Tooru erase it completely? Pull it from his head and dispose of it like he would any useless, pointless, space-consuming garbage? 

Were Tooru’s hand not holding his chin still, he’d try to shake that last thought from his head, chase away that planted idea that his old name was garbage, a waste of space.

...Real name. Not old. 

“All done~,” His lover declared, before he could devolve further into this losing war with the thoughts Tooru had put in him. “Take a look, love.”

His eyes fluttered open, and they were reflected on a face that looked… almost plastic.

For the most part, the makeup came close to a ‘natural’ look, just… a little too shiny. Notably, though the foundation had concealed his freckles, his captor had taken the time to dot fake ones on, stretching from cheek to cheek and bridging over his nose, looking far too neat to be naturally-occuring. Blush was applied lightly, almost enough so that it could be unnoticeable unless one looked closely, but the pink dusting, hidden or not, served to make him seem an innocent virgin. Tooru had gone light on the lipstick, but the modest application was undermined by a fairly obvious layer of gloss. Most jarring was the eyes, having forgone the ... _ slightly _ more subdued feel the rest of the face sported. Mascara, eyeliner, and eyeshadow all came together to frame his eyes, make them seem larger than they really are… making them seem almost doll-like, an otherworldly shine now occupying them. His lashes longer than they had ever been before (or so the first thought to surface in his mind says, before he realizes he can’t call forth any examples), their fluttering looking more like they belong some antique doll rather than a real-life human being. Glittery eyeshadow, stuck somewhere between red and sultry and pink and innocent. 

He doesn’t look like a real person.

“Commit this to memory, dove,” Tooru whispers sweetly in his ear. “It’s how your husband-to-be likes his girl to look, so it’s important to remember.” As he speaks, his thumb trails under his lips, careful not to disturb his work. 

“I’m a boy,” Tamami protests, voice sounding desperate.

Tooru doesn’t frown, his eyes don’t flash into anger.

He just chuckles.

“What kind of boy,” Tooru asks, “is named Tamami?”

“That’s not my name.”

“Of course it is. It’s a lovely name for a lovely, silly girl.”

“I’m not a girl,” Tamami forces out as a whisper, though it sounds less like a statement and more like begging.

“Of course you are, dove. I know you’re not very bright—being a girl and all, you aren’t made for smarts—but how could you not be a woman, with tits like these?”

Tamami stops breathing, eyes frozen straight ahead, trying not to look down, as if it will make it less real. But she sees it in the mirror, as Tooru reaches from behind to cup the both of them, thumbs brushing over her nipples as he rolls them in circles, humming. And she has to look down, see the way Tooru cradles them, see how it matches the way Tooru’s thumbs move with the resulting sensations. 

“A little small, but they’re cute that way. Still, they might still grow more yet. I haven’t decided. Big, bouncy tits are cute too.”

“Those weren’t there before,” Tamami sounds, hollow and devoid of certainty.

“Weren’t they?” Tooru tuts, pulling out his phone. On it, a photo, of Tamami in her lingerie—in the lingerie Tooru put her in, she corrects. Panties hiding a bulge, albeit much smaller than it should be, and a bra that was very much filled out.

“Silly girl,” Tooru sighs fondly as Tamami stares, trying to process. “Such an airhead, forgetting something like that. But that’s alright, dumb girls like you are so cute. You’re just lucky you have me to do the thinking for you, and save you from being taken advantage of by less kind men… or being convinced you’re a man, I suppose. So gullible.”

“But—”

“Shh… look at you. You’re just hurting yourself, trying to think like this. Not to mention, you’re wrinkling that sweet face of yours. That won’t do. No one likes ugly, smart girls. You’re so much better off cute and stupid, just how your loving fiancé likes.”

Tooru lifts Tamami’s hand, and admires their matching rings, which most definitely were not there before.

Then he leans around, pushing Tamami’s face to the side so he can lay a kiss on her lips. “Just be happy being stupid, okay?”

And as if he’d pulled it away from her, she forgot what she was so worried about, instead being replaced by the knowledge that she was upset by something—and that Tooru had taken it away. 

She barely noticed when Tooru pulled her from the vanity chair, carrying her bridal style, head resting on his shoulder. Instead, she was focused on the growing realization, fear, that Tooru could alter her mind to suit his needs… and that he would do so as long as he liked, until she had become the loyal wife he wanted, not a single part of her safe from his touch. And with it, the feeling of relief and gratitude that her big, strong man was protecting her from both the world and herself, undoubtedly planted by her loving  fianc é.

Wasn’t it just great? He was sweet and kind and handsome and oh so patient with her even though she was so slow. She’d get so many pretty dresses and nice makeup and all other sorts of gifts from him… And she couldn’t wait to serve him like a good wife should! And once she’d proven she was good enough at making his meals and keeping the house clean and serving his cock, he’d reward her by letting her have his kids! There’s nothing else she’d rather do with her life than carry his babies!

Only when Tooru set her down on their bed was she able to break free from that chain of thought. It was like even acknowledging that sexist drivel he’d glued into her brain was enough to suck her in, trap her in a built-in brainwashing program, Tooru hoping she’d be so kind as to scrub away her own mind for him. 

Who knows how long she’d be in there if Tooru hadn’t—

“Your lips are so big and pretty… they look so soft…” Tooru spoke as he lay on the bed, legs spread, back against the headboard, and Tamami very much did not like whatever was dripping off his voice as he spoke. He beckoned her forth, and she moved without willing it, as if on strings. “We did talk about thanking me, didn’t we? It’s important to show your gratitude. Not just for me helping you with your makeup, but for housing you, feeding you… there’s a lot that I do for you, so you need to be sure to do lots for me, too.”

“I don’t want to take your virginity like this, though. I’m a classy man, and want to wait until marriage. Wouldn’t that be romantic? Taking your virginity on our wedding night? Of course, we have to wait until I’m sure you’re ready to be a mommy too, because the only thing that could make that night more special is knocking you up the first time we make love, too. You’ll have to work hard to be my wife… and this is one of the first steps. I can’t take your cunt just yet, but…”

Tamami’s eyes are drawn to his crotch, as the sound of a zipper fills the room.

“I just got done saying how perfect your lips are, didn’t I? You’re basically built to be a born cock-sucker.”

Tooru’s smile, while still kind, was drawn a little higher, looking smug and amused, his eyes more heavily lidded than usual. Tamami’s gaze seemed stuck on his eyes, looking sharp and hungry, as what he’d said sunk in her stomach. She’d already heard it a dozen times before, but hearing it again didn’t lessen the weight it held, that he intended to erase her identity into a ditzy housewife to knock up whenever he pleased.

As his tongue brushed over his lips, he pushed his pants down to let a fully erect cock spring out. Tamami’s eyes widened, mouth gaping, and Tooru revelled at the sight. 

“Impressed, or scared?” he asked, amused. “It’s okay. Take a moment to appreciate your man’s cock. Isn’t it nice that you get to look forward to a life where you can have that in you every night? Filling that sweet pussy of yours, getting your insides all messy with my cum? Doesn’t it get you all hot and bothered, knowing this cock is going to knock you up as many times as it can, breed you until you’re ruined?”

Tooru drew his knees up under Tamami’s arms, forcing her to stumble forward, face just inches from his cock. He brushes his fingers through her hair, before gripping them harshly, pulling her close, tickling her nose with the smell of his musk.

“That’s your man’s scent, sweetheart. If you ever get any more silly ideas about being a man or having another name, you just tell me and I’ll let my musk fill up your head and fog up your mind so you don’t have to get yourself all worked up.”

She wanted to scoff at the notion, but instead she had trouble remembering something so simple like exactly how to make that sound, her mind slowing to a crawl until only one thought could surface among the others: sucking Tooru’s cock.

So she reached forward to grip it, and pressed her lips to the tip, Tooru not surprised in the least by her sudden initiative.

Tooru laughs when she struggles to take him in her mouth, gagging against his length.

“It’s alright,” he assures her as her eyes start to water, petting at her hair, “It’s a good thing you’re so bad at this, actually. First, it means you’re a virgin, saving yourself for the man that’ll own you. Second, it means I can train you from scratch, no need to tear down any bad habits.” 

She feels his hand tighten around her hair once, a touch more gentle than before.

“I’ll help you, this time. Pay attention, so you can do it on your own next time.”

He looks at her, eyes full of love, and says, “Breathe through your nose.”

And then he pulls her head down, forcing himself inside her mouth with a hum of pleasure. 

Effortlessly, his expression of bliss not slipping for an instant, he keeps her in place as she chokes around his cock, trying to pull away. “Shhh. It’s fine, it’s fine.” All the while, he still lounges back, watching.

The very second it might barely seem as though Tamami had recovered, her head is pulled up, and brought down again. Roughly, at first, but soon taking a rhythm as Tamami’s breathing adjusts, as she syncs with Tooru’s movements instead of being jerked up and forced down.

“That’s my girl. Such a fast learner when it comes to the things that matter. Now, it’s time to put those cute, soft lips and that warm tongue of yours to use, isn’t it?”

And before she can even think of it, her lips seal around his cock, driven by a will other than her own. Her tongue, which just a minute ago was reflexively pushing against Tooru’s cock as she gagged, desperate, was now coming to action, dragging across his length as her head bobbed. And as she started to suck, Tooru’s hand released it’s hold on her hair, receding as his arm draped across his chest, it’s twin resting on the headboard as he lounged back, admiring as Tamami continued to maintain the momentum built under his guidance even without his firm hand to keep her in place.

(Of course, it still wasn’t entirely Tamami. But if she thought it was all her, even if she had her doubts, it might help her realize she was born to fill this role.)

Laying back, lazily drinking in the sight of his girl completely immersed in her role, he could only sigh to himself. 

“What a view,” he whispered, for once just an idle comment, thoughtless, instead of teasing praise to his sweetheart, designed to smooth out her unsightly edges and help her understand the kind of life she needs. Lolling his head to the side, he raised his voice, unthinking as he spoke.

“You’re stunning like this,” he informed Tamami, genuine, meaning every word, “no hesitation, no protests… just the woman I saw in you that very first time I saw you, the woman I fell in love— _ ohh _ —in love with,” he continued, voice shuddering at the end as Tamami’s pace quickened. “You make me so happy. I’m going to make you happy, too.”

With a gasp, he practically melted, head rolling back as Tamami, as though reacting to his words, found her efforts doubling, his pleasured sounds drowning out anything akin to resistance in her head. Instead, the only thing loud enough to register over Tooru’s moaning is an insistent voice desperately urging her to reward him for all he’s done for her. 

And suddenly, he’s springing up, both hands pressing her down, cock as deep as it can go in her, spitting out expletives as he creams inside her, rutting as his cum shoots down her throat. 

“Every drop, every drop sweetie, that’s it come on, come on, oh god,  _ shit _ .”

And then he lets Tamami rise, make-up ruined, and giggles break through his panting as he lifts his hand to caress her face, breath still hot as he leans in.

“Ah… we already went and messed up your face, after all that work… well, that’s alright,” he reasons, “it was more just to show you how it should look, anyways.”

And even then, it wasn’t very necessary. His woman was already gorgeous. The make-up was more about keeping her dutiful, and that warm fuzzy feeling inside he’d have when she did it herself, just for him. The routine would be good for her, and it’d make his heart sing to see her dolled up on his account. 

“Let’s get washed up, sweet thing,” he whispers, adjusting her collar.

Finger slipping under the pink strap of her collar, he pulls her along, onto her feet and across the room, past a door and into a bathroom, two stools under a stalled-in showerhead, and a luxury tub more than big enough for a couple. A pair of his/her sinks take up a portion of the wall, but despite their size, they hardly dominate the room, far larger than even his... old bedroom? His? And something before Tooru, just there, out of reach. Her head aches, suddenly, and Tooru, noticing, presses a kiss to her forehead, and whatever was confusing her dissipates and floats away, fractured. As he guides her to the stools, they pass a row of shelves stocked with plush towels, and a cabinet of skin and hair care products. Even through her still-foggy mind, she suspects, looking at Tooru, that not all of them are there just as another duty expected of her. 

Isn’t it nice that her hubby-to-be is so conscious of his appearance? He’s so flawless.

He undresses Tamami first, slipping off the unbuttoned shirt he’d slipped her into while she slept, a soft baby blue, still carrying that same cologne scent from the first clothes he’d awoken in. A pair of panties and stockings are next, each flung into a hamper outside the stall, and after Tooru disposes of his own dressings, comprised solely of a pair of sweats and boxers, he guides her to one of the sinks—specifically, the one on the right, set some odd inches shorter than the other. Towels with pink embroidery of the english word ‘her’ in swirly letters, pink accents decorating them hang from rods by the mirror, and the rim of the basin is surrounded by moisturizers and frilly soaps. As Tooru opens one of the drawers, she finds them filled with face mask mixes and delicate cloths, one of which Tooru plucks from its resting spot and wets.

He presses his naked body against her bare back, and gently presses the cloth to her face, wiping away the ruined make-up as Tamami watches through the mirror as more and more of her natural face is unmasked. 

And when he’s done, she looks at her reflection, at the soft, girly face in the mirror, and a dull, weak voice in her head says it’s wrong.

Before she can think of it, Tooru yet again guides her away, this time to the stall, shampoos and conditioners on racks along the dividers. One stool sits in front of the other, the one closest the showerhead smaller, just a tad bit shorter than the one behind it, like the sinks, but with a less drastic difference in height. Tooru positions her just in front of it, collar the only thing covering her skin, and with the slightest of pressure on her shoulders, she sits, followed immediately by her darling  fianc é, close enough that she’s practically in his lap. Leaning in, one arm wrapping around her chest oh so briefly to hold her still, he reaches for the knob and turns, warm water instantly cascading down on them. 

She turns to eye at the shelves, at the pink bottles and flowery bars of soap, knowing they’re there for her, knowing Tooru wants her to use those—but Tooru grabs one of the bottles instead.

“Ah ah ah,” he scolds, “let me pamper my girl, okay? There are more tedious chores than feeling my sweetheart up as I get her nice and clean after a romp.”

Washing her hair is simple. It’s when he moves to lathering soap over her body that things get… frisky. A sweet smell—apple, she thinks—laces her breaths as Tooru’s soapy hands roam her sides, rolling over her hips and stomach, only to pull up and cup her breasts, running over them in smooth circles. With each movement of his, more and more of the changes her body has gone through become evident, a thin waist flaring out into large hips, the kind of hips his mother might’ve pointed out on girls when she still thought he was straight and wanted grandkids out of him—she blinks, and the thought is gone as Tooru drags his hands along her thighs (stopping at times just to tighten his grip around them just to watch the padding on the once scrawny limps squeeze between his fingers), the hair on them not falling out, but simply disappearing under his hands.

By far, the part Tooru has the most fun with is her ass. It was nothing to sneeze at even when his darling bride was trapped in a less becoming form, very much something he wanted to plow—and would’ve while the drugs had her carried off into a peaceful sleep, if he were less of a gentleman—but now? Now it was even better, and he didn’t have any intention of stopping it’s growth just yet. It was a cute, round little thing, but rather small in the grand scheme of things, something in dire need of correction. He’d always been one for a big ass. And how could he not be, with the way Tamami’s ass filled his hands? 

Meanwhile, Tamami was feeling something begin to harden against the very thing Tooru was worshipping.

Minutes later, Tooru would finally find the will to tear himself away from the perfect cheeks, he’d spent so much time on. 

Sighing, somewhat disappointed it had to come to an end, but plenty pleased at having touched it in the first place. In a moment, he’d be pressing a small bottle of soap, scent a little more masculine, into Tamami’s hands.

“As fun as it is to clean you… I’m rather eager for you to have your hands all over me, too,” he speaks as his chin rests on her shoulder. “Come on,” Tooru urges, pulling back, “appreciate your man’s body.”   
  


As Tamami turns, she swallows against a lump in her throat, and realizes, as she faces Tooru, how much larger he was than her. That can’t be right, can’t it? He was never huge, but he was above average, wasn’t he? So why was he so small compared to—Tooru takes her free hand, laying it on his chest, and her mind clears again, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. She could always count on him to ground her ditzy, distractible self. 

Taking back her hand, she pumps a healthy helping of soap onto the small, dainty thing, placing the bottle aside as she goes to palm at her man’s pecs. Smiling, Tooru pulls her even closer, and she finds herself staring at his face, looking so different with his wet hair pushed back, but so easily recognizable by his kind eyes. And as she’s filled with the feelings of love for him and his love for her, dancing beautifully, she continues to feel at Tooru’s firm chest, built with tight muscle. God, she really was lucky to have caught the eye of such a strong, athletic man, wasn’t she? And, she thought as her hands wandered up, such broad shoulders. Perfect for making her feel sheltered and safe when those big, strong arms wrap around her, maybe holding her hands, so tiny by comparison, in his. Washing them, she felt so fuzzy as her hands ran over his. All romantic and fluffy, but something more… tingly.

Ignoring the feeling between her legs, she moves her attention downward, pointedly avoiding looking directly at Tooru’s cock, instead giving her whole focus to his lovely abs, toned to perfection, wondering just how many fangirls would be jealous that she’s the one that gets to see them up close. 

And… that ass of his is something she may or may not take the time to appreciate herself, full and round while still being firm enough to belong on a man, not like the soft, squishy one she had when she thought—the thought drifts away on its own as her eyes flicker down to spy at her man’s big, virile cock. She instead finds herself humming quietly as she absently lets images of herself fat with Tooru’s sons wander through her mind.    
  
And then she realizes she’s been staring at Tooru’s cock a good minute or two as he watched, amused.   
  
“Oh, sweet dove,” he teases, “it might be a bit too soon for that… but, well,” he presses a finger to her lips, “if you’ve really gone and gotten yourself all worked up over me,” not that he was in any room to judge, “I suppose as a good husband, I should take care of that for you, shouldn’t I?”

Her back is against the wall within the minute, palms of her hands braced against tile as Tooru lifts her by her thighs, cock pressing against her ass.

(Lube, apparently, is something Tooru seems to have expected he may have need of in the shower, having been on one of the racks.)

Lining up against her hole, he whispers to her. “Buckle up, sweetheart,” and she finds herself curling around him, arms thrown around his neck, legs wrapping behind his back, relying on him entirely for support. 

He’s still looking into her eyes when his hips press forward, cock tip pushing its way past the ring of muscle as she was lost in just how amazing he was.   
  
Coherent thought seems more and more distant with each moment Tooru spends working into her, every inch of length sending her deeper into thoughtless lust, and each desperate whine from her mouth just making Tooru faster, more insistent in his work, showing less and less restraint as he moves to fill his woman, to have himself in her down to the very hilt. And when he does, he stills a moment, watching the way Tamami trembles at the feeling of having taken his maleness as deep as she could. His smile twists possessively, and he knows he won’t be able to help but fuck her senseless.   
  
He’s slow, the first time he begins pulling out. Has to be, to watch her face, see how she goes from feeling full enough to be torn apart to achingly empty, to listen to her mourn every bit of him that leaves her hole. 

It’s a thing of love, he thinks, to be so enthralled by the sight of her being undone, of the sound of her crying out when he pushes in with far less patience, of the feeling of his skin slapping against hers where their bodies meet. Love doesn’t need to be gentle, he reasons, as he pounds her until she’s crying, unable to even think of forming words as he ruins her.

He revels in the feeling, in all of it, in her warmth, in the feeling of his chest against her breasts, her arms thrown around him, clinging to him for support.

He was born to love a woman the way he loves Tamami. He can’t wait until those last bits of Tadashi come to the surface so he can reason with her, make every piece of her as devoted to him as he is her. Convince those parts of her still so deluded of their love, his sweet truths making her see they were meant to be, that she was made just for him. 

He can’t wait until she’s ready for him to take her cunt. 

That last thought is all he needs to thrust into her one last time, to pull an orgasm from her as he empties his load.

That overgrown clit of hers doesn’t even show so much as a bead. Even further along than he’d hoped.

He carries her body to the tub, the girl already so much lighter than she’d been when he first brought her home, bringing her to rest between his legs as they sink into the pleasant warmth as her breath returns to her. He fingers her hole as she lay against him, watching the cum spill out and disperse into the bathwater. Fingertips brush against her lips when he’s done, and she cleans them without being told, like any good girl should.

It’s quiet. Domestic even, lounging in the water. He holds her close, idly playing with a breast as an absent minded thing rather than a seduction. They just soak, no words, no play. 

Even after, as he towels her off slowly, neither says a word, the silence fitting them comfortably. 

He takes her hand, gently, and guides her to a room full of drawers and cabinets and lots and lots of clothes.

And a pillowfort with string lights.

For a moment, her head rings. And then Tooru squeezes her hand.

“What,” Tooru muses, “should you wear for me?”   
  
Tamami wants to say something, but she can’t focus on what for more than a few seconds. The light is brighter, sure, and she dimly notes a set of switches to her right, but this room is… something. It’s just hard to tell what, pieces darting about her mind, unable to put them together. All the while, Tooru thinks aloud.

“I need to show you exactly what kind of look I like… though, I did buy all of these clothes with that in mind, didn’t I?” He sighs. “Still, it feels like the first should be something… special.”

Something clicks, evidently. Tooru hurriedly opens a drawer, not hesitating a moment.

  
Just as he’d done Tamami’s makeup, and washed her in the shower, Tooru sees fit to dress up his little ‘doll’ as she lets him do as he pleases, distracted, only pulled back from her fruitless attempts to remember the significance of that little fort, plush pillows and fairy lights and all, by tugs from Tooru adjusting her.    
  
A bra, white in color, with teal lace frills lining the edges, tiny ribbon in the very middle, and on the sides, stripes of a slightly light shade, dotted with hearts. Panties, almost identical in style, and a flower design in the middle, perhaps slightly snug on her ass. And stockings, only a slightly, subtle brown, bringing out the shapeliness of legs long enough to be alluring, but not enough so that anyone could call her tall.

A tight, light teal button up, cap sleeves just a shade darker, Tooru seeing fit to leave several buttons undone, humming as he muses on just how better this might be if he opted to see Tamami’s breasts even bigger. Buttons as they are, one could see just a peek of the bra Tooru had chosen, a perfect treat for himself, and a point to tease any guest they might have one day, when Tamami was ready to make all the other men envious that Tooru had such a perfect woman. 

A skirt, dropped waist, pale mint, decorated with vines, slightly more vivid in color carrying flowers and leaves. Almost meeting the neckline of the shirt, hanging down to just above the knees. Modest, perhaps, but plenty easy to lift, to push up and aside whilst bending her over. 

And of course, as no trophy wife, in training or no, would ever be caught without; a pair of heels, black in color. They made her knees wobble and her steps unsteady, but she would learn, and until then, her efforts were awfully cute. 

He steps back, satisfied for a beat, before frowning.   
  
“It needs… something  _ special _ ,” Tooru comments, more to himself than Tamami. After all, the way she dresses is more about him than her, and until she can learn exactly how to look like a wife should, the decision is his. A fancy lockbox catches his eye as he scans the room, and Tamami almost finds herself instinctively smiling in the same moment he does. “Perfect.”

Tooru had clearly not been stingy as he shopped for his future bride’s jewelry. Diamonds and pearls and every gemstone Tamami had ever known—had she always known so many different jewels?—set in necklaces, earrings, rings, and more all littered a set of shelves, the box Tooru gravitated towards simply being the largest and most ornamented.   
  
Tamami finds herself, but a minute later, in a set of earrings and a necklace, both with vivid turquoise stones. Once again, Tooru pulls away, hand trailing against her face as he moves to view her in full, looking as though he might cry when he sees exactly how the outfit comes together.

“Gorgeous,” he breathes, stunned, guiding her to a mirror. “Imagine,” he prompts as she takes in a reflection that is very much of a woman, that she struggles to recognize as herself, “what you’d look like if we hadn’t gone and messed up that make-up of yours. Now… you just need one last thing, don’t you, dear? It’ll be very important. Just a moment, then.”

  
It’s a pink, only slightly lighter than her collar, with predictable white frills along the edges. Especially the white-striped top, which makes as if to cover his breasts, but only to stop halfway up, not covering the cleavage his shirt leaves exposed, but accentuating it, with its heart shape framing his breasts quite cutely. The rest of the front, “Mrs.” embroidered on it much like the towels before, falls only part way down his thighs, practicality clearly not in mind given how little it protects. And it’s all tied together, quite literally, by Tooru pulling the attached sash behind her and tying it into a cute bow—giving it a few extra tugs for good measure, making it rather snug. But that’s good, she reminds herself, if it’s nice and tight it will give her chest, hips, and butt that much more of a pop, just like Tooru likes. And he likes it a lot indeed. So much so that he decides he doesn’t care how much he’d have to spend on a chiropractor for his dear, dear wife-to-be; she’s going to have a bigger rack than she could possibly handle. A nice bouncy one.

“How could I possibly expect you to make dinner without an apron?” Tooru asks, as she turns, observing the way the tight sash makes her ass stand out that much more. “Now, why don’t you get cooking while your  fianc é gets himself dressed all nice and handsome for you, okay?” 

“But I don’t know any recipes, honey.”

It occurs, somewhere in the back of her ditzy, ditzy mind, that it’s the first sentence she’s managed all day longer than four words. 

“Of course you do. What else would girls fill their heads with? Especially a silly one like you, head so much emptier than a man’s,” he tutts. “Now get to it, dove.”

And suddenly, a recipe for steak surfaces in her mind. 

The kitchen is everything a housewife could possibly want, so different from the typical Japanese set-up; his family’s kitchen didn’t have an oven, let alone two! She frowns a moment, but smiles when she notices that it even has a dishwasher! Of course Tooru would have a dishwasher. A busy man like him, working so hard for his woman, would never have time for dishes. And now he wouldn’t have to worry about his poor wifey’s delicate hands to getting ruined doing dishes by hand. They’ll stay soft forever.

She moves like it’s a built-in daily routine, buzzing from fridge to counter to oven, all the while appreciating this lovely kitchen, all for her. As she seasons steaks, mashes potatoes, and chops veggies, she just can’t get off her mind just how happy she is to be the one to cook Tooru’s meals and keep this hard-working, loving man fed. Why, she was so proud of this duty that even when she was nice and round with his kids, she’d still find it in her to get up and make delicious food for him. The idea of missing a day is painful.   
  
“That’s my girl,” she hears, from behind, prompting a giggle. “So diligent,” he continues as he proceeds right past the kitchen to the living room—open concept, so she can watch him go, dressed all crisp, yet still so much more casual than her own wear, shirt being even less buttoned than her own—but with his pecs being so big and strong as they are, the shirt still ends up clinging pretty closely with only a few buttons, providing a nice strip showing of cleavage of his own. Always wanting to look good for his little sweetheart. She manages to tear her eyes away from him as he reclines on the couch, tv flickering to life. As delicious as her man looks, his dinner should taste even better! She needs to give the meal her full attention! 

And Tooru can just lay back and enjoy both the sight and the smell of Tamami hard at work. The click-clack of her heels on tile as she busies herself, hips swaying as she walks. Readjusting her bra as she waits in front of the oven, raising her chest before letting it fall with a bounce. Idle, innocent moments to her, erotic to him. He might have just created a monster that will keep him horny every moment of the day, not a moment’s rest.    
  


He supposes that’s the one and only issue with helping a girl in need of a man become his perfect wife. And he also supposes that he should have her be just as horny.    
  


She sets the table as he takes his seat, minutes later. She even grabs the vintage he loves best without being asked, and pours his glass before her own. Who could ask for a better bride? 

“Perfect,” he compliments as he eats. “You’re a natural. It’s like I’ve told you from the very beginning: you were born to be a housewife.” After a beat, he adds, “ _ Mine _ .”   
  
“Thank you so much!” Tamami responds in her girlish voice, flattered. “I’m really glad you like it,” she adds, quieter, shyly, gripping at the corners of her dress as she blushes, “I want to make you as happy as I can.”   
  
“You already are, love,” he smiles, then amends: “Just remember, Japanese style for breakfast, western for dinner.”   
  
“What about lunch, honey? Should I pack you bentos?”   
  
“Oh, you only have to worry about lunch on weekends. Until we have kids, at least. My secretary gets lunch for me on weekdays.”

She frowns, almost pouting. “Secretary?”   
  
Smirking smugly, he asks, “Is my woman jealous? How cute.”   
  
The pout is no longer ‘almost’. 

He hums, amused. “Don’t worry, dear. If I liked her half as much as I do you, she wouldn’t be working at all.” 

While she was very clearly waiting for someone to make a woman of her just as Tamami had been, he didn’t get the feeling with her he was looking for. There were a lot of ‘boys’ he’d met that were like that, but until Tamami, he was never sure. Maybe he can point a friend her way, though. In fact, maybe he’ll give Kindaichi a call soon; Kunimi isn’t that great of a secretary, anyways, and Kindaichi is too diligent a guy to be without a wife.

Tamami’s pout fades, and instead, Tamami looks embarrassed. So cute.

“It’s sweet, though, that you’d get so upset over that.”   
  
“I want to be all the woman you need…” She mumbles.

“Oh, but you are, dove,” plate finished, he stands, assuring, “you’re what I’ve needed my whole life.” When Tamami’s lips curl upwards, he presses a kiss to her cheek. “Maybe some cuddling will help clear those nasty thoughts from your head.”    
  
“...I’d really like that.”   
  
“So would I. Why don’t you get all of this cleaned up while I pick out your nightgown, okay?”

That night, they fall asleep together in Tooru’s bed—their bed, spooning, Tooru’s arms around her making her feel warm and safe.

When she wakes before him the next morning, her thoughts don’t turn to confusion, or false memories, or anything so nasty as that.

Instead, she refreshes herself in the bathroom, dresses in something modest enough to be cute, but not so much that it fails to be sexy, and does her makeup in that lovely little way Tooru showed her, all before heading to the kitchen and starting the rice cooker.

When he sees all that she’d done by herself, just for him, he looks positively giddy, almost manic.

She sees him off with a kiss at the door, and after a day of cleaning, greets him with another. And as more days pass, Tooru’s smile seems more and more satisfied as she goes from being asked for shoulder rubs and foot massages, to wordlessly doing them without needing so much as a second glance. Not before taking his coat or bringing him his beer, of course.

They spend a month like this, before Tooru can bring himself to test the waters further. He’d like nothing more than to just sink into marital bliss effortlessly, but he couldn’t risk any unfortunate flair-ups of Tamami’s confused little moments after they were wed, and certainly not when they had children on the way. He can only imagine the kind of distress that would put her under. And how it’d disrupt her homemaking. 

No, the only responsible thing to do was to test her. Or, rather, to bring any lingering confusion or doubt to the surface so he can charm away any potential distractions, and get all of Tamami on board with her exciting new life.

And the best way to draw forth those doubts, dormant and hibernating, is to put her in a situation that would make her uncomfortable. To press her with something that she was unused to, and something that might make her question her intended role in life, latent thoughts waking as she falters. 

There was something rather perfect in mind, both an important skill a wife would need to serve him well, and what would be the most likely to make her unfortunately deluded parts panic enough to make noise.

In cooking, she was absent of faults, not a single cut of meat over-done, not a single grain of rice too hard or soft, not a single meal not suited to his tastes. In cleaning, she spared no speck of dust, polished every surface to perfect shine, and left pleasant scents in every room she groomed with a fine-toothed comb—which was all of them, being as dedicated as she is. All of Tooru’s shirts were soft and finely-pressed, all his outfits set out for him before he woke. Even the free time she had after all her duties was spent well, watching cooking shows or marking pages in recipe books. And of course, her cock sucking technique had come a long way, and her ass took his cock perfectly.    
  
Not a one error in any of them.

Of all of the necessary skills a wife needed, only one had gone untested, untried.

He brought it in on wheels, under a sheet. 

“A gift,” he clarifies, when she points that look at him that look she always gets when she doesn’t understand something. Which is often. 

“What kind of gift?” 

“Just that last little piece you need before we can wed,” pausing, he turns his gaze from it to her,“responsibility.”   
  
And, as she begins to repeat the word, questioning, Tooru interrupts her, pulling the sheet off delicately, to reveal a golden cage, bars decorated with swirls and flairs, a sweet white dove perched inside.

And, for the first time in weeks, that lump in her stomach lasts for more than a few moments, and isn’t quite so easy to ignore. 

“Take care of this dove for a month,” Tooru explains, “and you’ll prove you’re ready to be a mother. And if you’re ready to be a mother, you’re ready to be a wife. Isn’t that exciting? Motivating?”   
  
“Um,” Tamami blurts without meaning to, her courage dying as it passes her lips.    
  
Tooru frowns, though he’d expected this. Wanted it, even. Any discomfort, hesitance, making itself obvious for him to gently correct. “Is something the matter?”

“The cage,” she forces out, at his prompting, “isn’t it a little… small?”   
  
“Perhaps,” Tooru responds, stepping behind her to lay his hands on her shoulders, her eyes not leaving the cage. “But it’s better this way, isn’t it? If she had room to fly, she could hurt herself. And if we let her out altogether, think of the danger she’d be in. Strangers, cats, even other birds… this is for her sake. It might seem mean, but it’s all for her sake. She’s just a dumb animal, after all. She can’t be trusted to make her own decisions, especially not when her betters can make them for her.”   
  
And as Tooru transitions into explaining how to take care of her, she finds that not only is she not forgetting the dread hanging over her, but that she remembers having forgotten other things, some far more important than this.

But they hang out of her reach, nagging.   
  
She names the dove Pii. Tooru comments that it’s not very creative, and then adds that it’s okay—imagination isn’t a trait wives need, anyways. 

Just yesterday, she would’ve taken that as a compliment. 

Instead, it leaves her feeling sick.

The days don’t roll by as fast, after. 

She does everything she's supposed to, of course. They just don’t make her happy anymore. Or they do, but… it’s as though there’s a wall of buzzing static between her and the part of her that enjoys the things she does. She’s aware of the pride that wells up in her when she twirls in front of the mirror, make up done and the perfect outfit picked out for Tooru to see her in, but it doesn’t feel like hers. When she looks at her body as she gets ready for a shower, the old thoughts about how great her body is for pleasing a man, her man, seem so distant, background noise to something saying that she doesn’t look like how she should, but unable to tell her what’s wrong. Her soft hair, the quality of her meals, the shine she leaves on dishes; all of these things once made her so excited, knowing it’d make her fianc é happy even if he wouldn’t point it out. Now her hair feels foreign, she doesn’t remember learning to cook, and when she sees her reflection in the plates, something twists inside her.

At least when Tooru is home, she can distract herself by being by his side.

But during the day, it’s so hard to keep her mind from wandering.   
  
Worst of all is when she’s finished with her chores. No dishes left to clean, no prep left for dinner, not one shelf undusted, or one shirt unfolded. The dove, watered and fed.

Then, hands free, unoccupied, she is completely without distraction, save the occasional cooing. Even then, is that really a distraction when so much of her time is spent staring at the bird? It was looking at her that had woken something in her up, after all, so isn’t in natural to see what else Pii might stir in him?

She’s been getting a lot of headaches, lately, most of all when he tends to her. When he watches her. 

One day, she doesn’t even greet her love at the door, or even so much as a ‘welcome home’, so caught up in observing Pii as though she held all of the wisdom of the world. 

“Are you getting strange ideas again, Tamami?” 

For some reason, though she hears it, it doesn’t register as being meant for her. As if he had called someone else’s name. And then his hand is on her shoulder, and she’s jolting at the touch, skin crawling.

“N… no. I’m sorry, dear. I’ve just been awfully distracted lately…” Tamami presses herself against him, looking so small in comparison—a difference that suddenly feels wrong as she looks up against him, but she swallows against the thought. “Let me make it up to you.”

“Oh, my dear... “ he chides, “that’s sweet of you, but you know I worry about you, don’t you?”    
  
“And that’s my fault. I’m sorry, Tooru. Please let me do this for you,” she begs—maybe if she does this, it will help drive these confusing, hurtful things out of her head, maybe if she sees his cock, lets his musk wash over him, all those nasty thoughts will drift away like they did before, the first time she made Tooru feel good like this. “I want to show you just how much you mean to me. I need this too.”   
  


Tooru smiles, reluctantly. It’s okay, he supposes, to let a few distractions take place. They’ve another three weeks to draw ‘him’ out. “Alright, darling. Since you insist, I’ll do this for you,” he concedes, taking his place upon the couch, lowering his clothes just enough for Tamami to reach him. “I suppose I can’t help just how much you love my cock, after all.” 

“Oh, thank you!” This was sure to calm him down, make her forget these strange ideas that won’t let her be, so she can be a good little wife for her man. Already, as she settled on the floor between his legs, she could feel Tooru’s scent making them distant, quiet.    
  
It’s already hard as she presses her lips to the tip. It always is, after all. Tooru has wondered aloud quite a few times how someone could possibly look at her on her knees and not get hard, knowing those sweet lips of hers would be wrapped around him in just a moment. It’s always left her feeling warm and fuzzy. 

The feeling isn’t gone, but it’s dulled. She tries to muffle the observation as she takes him deeper. To bury herself in the feeling of her mouth being full, in the pride of taking him without any gagging whatsoever. The satisfaction of a job well done, being rewarded with Tooru’s moans as his fingers tighten in her hair.

It’s about pleasing him, of course. About making him happy, making him feel good. And making him feel good makes  _ her  _ feel good. That’s why she’s here, why she was born, to make a man happy. To make her man happy. To make Tooru happy. She lives for his pleasure, for his smiles, his comfort, his pride. So that he can leave work each day knowing he has a pretty little thing waiting at home, spotless, to ask him about his day and help him unload, and have a hot, home-made meal within the hour. So that one day, he could have a framed family on his desk, an adorable wife by his side, three or four children in front of them, and maybe even a dog by his side, staring back at him to help get him through a long day. So that he can have everything a real man should have, everything a guy like him deserves.

It’s about pleasing him, she repeats in her head like a mantra. Repeats it as one hand is wrapped around his cock, pumping it in turn with the bobbing of her head.

It’s about pleasing him.

So why does she keep thinking about how uncomfortable she is? Why does her head keep losing focus on her duty, and returning to her questions whenever she tries to let her instincts, her experience, take hold of her.

And why, as her strong, virile man comes, does she feel wrong?

This was supposed to make her feel better, supposed to drive away the things making her unhappy. Instead, as she rests her head against Tooru’s thigh, he feels sick. His gaze falls on Pii, her cage uncovered for the entire thing, having watched through golden bars. 

That night, those bars would stick to her mind as Tooru’s arms curled around her, around her. She tried to remember his hold as comforting, but as she struggled to let sleep take her, a thought refused to leave her be, a wonder.   
  
Was this embrace any different from that of cage that held Pii captive?

Tooru wakes before her, to her horror. Everyday since they’d begun sharing his bed, she’d gotten up first, all to make sure her beloved fianc é could be sent off to work stress free, a smooth morning so that he could sleep each night without worrying about his daily routine the next day, waking to a cup of coffee practically more milk than anything else, and the tv already turned to the news. She rushes about in a flurry, even as Tooru tells her he can forgive her, to do her best to salvage his morning.    
  
It’s an obstacle when, as she buzzes around the house, she keeps trying to recall when, exactly, they’d begun sharing a bed. But it’s one she’s able to suppress. 

Until Tooru was out the door, at least. 

(He’d be back late, he told her. He needed to hold interviews for a new secretary.)   
  
And then her head is pounding, and he’s staring at Pii again, wondering if she’s miserable in that tiny cage.

“..It’s for your own good,” he tells her, finger dragging down one of the bars gently, though she wonders if the assurance is really for Pii alone. “This is so you can be happy. Care-free. Fed, warm, safe…”   
  
As his fingers curl around the bars, each and every word from his mouth makes his stomach twist more.

He finds himself in the bathroom, naked; his clothes were too hot, too heavy. 

And as he looks in the mirror, he sees clearly, for the first time, the cunt between his legs. Of all the times he’d been naked, he’d never looked at it directly for more than a moment.   
  
Through the wave of confusion, he realizes, like a nail through his head, that it doesn’t make sense that it’d been the first time. But he doesn’t remember anything else.   
  
He doesn’t even remember growing up a girl. 

Or growing up at all.    
  
On shaky legs, he takes a step back, leaning his form against the wall, hugging his shoulders as he struggles to steady his breathing—an effort with little success when he can’t remove his eyes from the mirror, and reflected in it, the sight between his legs.

A few beats pass, the pounding of his heart being the only thing to pass his ears. And then, with a shiver, a hand falls. To touch it, to confirm it’s reality. His hand snaps back at the slightest touch, but, unsatisfied, he pushes himself to swallow against the lump in his throat, to force his hand between his legs, to ghost along that slit, even so light a touch making him quiver. His hand doesn’t pull back this time, as if investigating further will produce the answers he so desperately needs, as badly as air. 

So he applies, with just one finger, a little force. Not much strength behind it at all, just enough to part those lips so slightly, to feel the way it pushes past, eyes darting up to the mirror every few seconds.    
  


He’s not exactly sure what he imagined it might feel, but more than any other sensation, he feels… strange. This hole, and the finger in it, pausing in it’s work of going deeper every few seconds as he hisses at the stimulation, both feel alien, in different ways. This cunt is his, a part of him, but not the part he should have, and this finger, foreign, invading, and however delicate it might be in reality, feels larger than it is, longer than it should be.

Brushing his fingertips against the folds along the hole, slight echoes of pleasure tease at him, and he lets his eyes flutter, goals slipping from him, trying to work through the discomfort of his his finger stretching himself, to pull some kind of bliss from this strangeness, trying with difficulty to pleasure himself, fumbling and clumsy. 

And then he looks up again.

He sits there, knuckle deep in himself, staring ahead at someone that he doesn’t recognize.

And it occurs to him that he hasn’t the slightest idea what he’s doing or how it could possibly be helping him. 

Whatevers holding him up against the wall goes slack, and lets him slide down and onto his ass, legs drawing in that to allow him to hang his head against his knees, curled in on himself, biting his lips as he wills the feelings he’d brought about away. 

However long it takes for the arousal to fade, he endures, sitting in silence. And even as it’s gone, he’s still for a length of time he didn’t bother to count.    
  


It’s as he’s wandering the house after, cleaning half-heartedly, hoping that he might escape this gnawing sensation if he ignores it long enough, he might lose sight of it completely, that he finds the gift Tooru had left for him to find.

His personal phone, left in plain sight on the coffee table, unnoticed as he focused on Pii. 

Heart pounding, he stares at it for what seems onto hours. Each time his finger twitches, his eyes dart to the front door, as though it might open at any minute.

It’s locked anyways, right? What harm could touching the home button do, he reasons, when it won’t open? He should just check the battery level, see if it needs charging, or if Tooru had missed any important messages. 

It takes forty five minutes to convince himself to pick it up, and half an hour more to press his thumb to it, and bring it’s screen to life.

He isn’t shown a number pad or keyboard expecting a password.

Instead, it opens, not a lick of security in place, to a photos app.    
  
Sunsets and cityscapes dot between the photos of him that dominate the latest dates. Cooking, cleaning, even dozing against Tooru’s shoulder. 

He hesitates to scroll down, as if he knows exactly what he’d end up finding. But his dread isn’t strong enough to dampen his curiosity. 

The mirror had denied him the image of someone he could recognize, but these photos do not. His hair isn’t as soft or wavy, his skin not as smooth or hairless, and his figure not so nearly as womanly. But it’s him, sitting in a closet, eyes open but looking at nothing. It’s him, passed out in a fancy car, wrapped in a blanket later found in the mound of the picture prior. It’s him, in a bar stool, camera getting further away the older the photos are. It’s him, with drying tear trails seen from what must be the barstool right next to him. 

It’s him, he realizes. A man. More a boy than anything, not even having moved out for college when he’d been disowned. A boy, sitting in a gay bar, drowning in his sorrows as an older man watched him, decided to ply from him his story, decided to make the oh so  _ generous  _ offer to stay at his place, decided to make a blushing, loyal bride of him.

It’s him. Tadashi. 

The toilet would likely be a better destination, with the way his insides are rioting, but his feet take him somewhere else.   
  
The closet. 

Where he’d woken up. 

Where Tooru had whispered sick promises into his ears as needles pierced his flesh, and as a collar found its place around his neck. Promises of a home, a husband, of a life devoid of thought or worry, a clear-set duty guiding his every move. Promises of children, he recalls with a shudder, hugging his stomach.    
  
Promises of a life forgotten, of dreams forgotten, of an identity forgotten, name and all. 

Name. His hand finds itself on a heart shaped tag, hanging from the pink strap of leather around his throat, ‘Tamami’ set into the metal. 

This collar was one of the first things Tooru had done to him. He’d not even taken it off for their showers, their baths, not to sleep.

Before that collar, he’d been drugged, any concession to his captor brought about by lack of thought. There was no such excuse after, yet he’d found himself agreeing with Tooru, protests fizzling out, sitting still and pretty as the older man did whatever he pleased. 

Sitting still and pretty, as he was he became like Pii, beautiful, but stuck in a cage, no less than what it was for it’s details and flairs, and far too small for a creature of freedom embodied.

The collar finds a place in the trash can.

He showers. Long enough that the water goes from scalding to cold, and feels no less dirty for it when he dresses in Tooru’s clothes to reclaim some semblance of masculinity; an effort that backfires when how large they are serve as a rather distressing reminder of just how much his body changed. Still, he wears them, better this than a dress when he leaves.

“You know, people talk about boyfriend shirts and sweaters, but somehow, it’s not nearly as cute as they said it’d be. Maybe that’s because you’re trying to be something you’re not, though.”   
  
Tadashi’s knees give out as soon as the first word passes his ears. 

From his hand dangles a pink collar, tag glinting as the dying light of the sunset fell through an open window, lifeless. “You even threw away my gift,” he commented, hurt leaking through his voice. 

“Tooru, I…”   
  
“Not to mention,” he adds, playing with an open cage door, “you let poor Pii get out.”   
  
It had been Tooru, of course. Tadashi had not opened any windows, had not so much as touched the cage latch. 

It didn’t stop Tadashi’s mind from blanking, confusion seeping in as his gaze centered on the open window, an empty cage by its side. 

“Well, she served her purpose, anyways. I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson, and we can move past it—mistakes are important for learning, too.”

Seeing that cage, knowing it’s open door meant freedom, made him feel more helpless than ever. Alone. 

Jealous.   
  
“It’s alright, sweetheart. You just weren’t yourself,” he chuckled, amused by his little joke. “I knew this would happen, of course. I know you better than yourself, after all.” He reaches Tadashi, dragging a finger along his jaw. “I knew there were still a few bits of you, deep down, that still needed my help. So I pushed and nudged until they came to the surface. And now those unfortunate pieces have come back together so I can deal with them properly. And then you won’t have to worry about any more difficult, confusing thoughts ever again. Just me and my precious little Tamami.”   
  
“I’m not, though,” he denied, head shaking ever so slightly as Tooru frowned.

“Oh, but you are. You were just waiting for someone like me to bring the woman in you out, and you were lucky enough for me to be the man to take care of you, Tamami.”   
  
“My name is Tadashi,” he protested, but his words sounded more on the verge of tears than indignant.   
  
“You thought it was. You also thought you were a man, but you were wrong.”   
  
“I wasn’t!” He yelled, coming to stand on shaky, uncertain legs, backing away from Tooru. “I’m going home.”   
  
“Home? What home do you have other than here with me? Certainly, if you remember this much, you remember that your parents don’t want you anymore.” A pause, and then added, with a smirk, “Of course, I suppose that since it turns out you’re heterosexual after all, they might change their minds. We might even be able to invite them to the wedding! Wouldn’t that be nice? ...I’m joking, obviously.”   
  
“I… I’m not heterosexual. I’m not a woman.”   
  
“You’re repeating yourself, dear,” Tooru informs with a roll of his eyes. 

“I’ll find somewhere. A shelter.”   
  
“And regale them with stories of how your fiancé magically transformed you into a woman?”   
  
His hand has been on the doorknob for a solid three minutes, he realizes. Tooru snakes his arms around Tadashi’s, binding them to his sides in a firm embrace. 

“I don’t mean to be harsh, Tamami. But I need you to listen to me.”   
  
“So you can brainwash me.”   
  
“So I can reason with you. I can’t let you be like Pii, can I? She has nowhere to go, no idea how the world works, no lifeplan… how long do you think you’ll survive out there, looking like you do? You don’t even have a phone, so how do you expect to find your way to a shelter? Wandering about until you get lucky? And how many times do you think men less kind than I will find you before then? Do you think you’re immune from things like that? Rape, kidnapping? Obviously, you aren’t. At least with me, you know exactly what you’re getting. You know you have heating and air conditioning, food and water, a bathroom… You know I won’t slit your throat when I’m done, because you know I love you, and want you to feel good, too.”

Tadashi can’t respond. He can only stare at the floor as all of the things Tooru had just described flashed through his mind, of thugs fucking him against alley walls coating in piss and grime, or in musty basements, waiting to be bought or sold by a world that doesn’t see a man where he stands anymore. When Tooru guides him by the shoulder, he doesn’t resist, not because he’s willing, but because he’s so distracted, he barely realizes he’s moving. 

He ends up in Tooru’s lap, head against his chest as his hands strokes his hair.    
  
“My darling Tamami...” Tooru opens fondly, smile not faltering a moment when Tadashi interrupts. 

“Tadashi. My name is Tadashi.”   
  
“Oh, honey… ‘Tadashi’ and ‘Tamami’... you’re one and the same. ‘Tadashi’ is just all of the confusion and fear left from your old life. Everyone had you convinced you had to be something you’re not, and that hurt is still in you. But you’ve been a woman from birth, just… lost. Waiting for a man like me to find you and show you where you belong, and what you were meant to be. A wife and mother. ‘Tadashi’ is just afraid of that. Partially because you’re still hurting from all the things you’ve been told all your life, expecting you to do all the hard things you simply weren’t built for, like getting a job or being a man… and partially because they convinced you that being what you are is beneath you. You’re having a hard time coming to terms with how much you love cooking and cleaning for your man, dressing just the way he likes, and, most of all, servicing his cock. You think it’s demeaning, but you love it, and that’s upsetting. But you love it because it’s what you were made for.”

Tadashi feels the words creeping into him, skin crawling, but he can’t bring himself to argue, lips sealed and trembling as her man speaks. 

“You love it because you want to be perfect for someone, make a gentleman like myself happy, so you can feel safe and loved. And you are. Safe here in my home, away from the world that had you so confused… and oh so very loved. Even this part of you, however much it might try to hurt me, is precious. That’s why I can’t let you go, or let you hurt yourself trying to cling to those silly ideas of being a man.” 

He snorts, amused. “You, a man… I don’t mean to tease, sweetheart, but you know you’re nothing close, right? You were a woman even before I helped you figure it out. That’s why you like men. On some level, you knew, and you were trying to find someone like me to set you straight... pun intended. You were never cut out for things like work, or independence, or god forbid, having a family with a woman, and you were well aware of it from the very beginning.”

“I…”   
  
“Hush, dear. It’s alright now.”   
  
“It’s… it’s not, though. You did all this without my permission, kept me prisoner and brainwashed me.”   
  
“I didn’t need your permission to help you. You’re my woman. And brainwashed? Darling, weren’t you so much happier once I showed you your purpose? You were happy to dote on me, always smiling when you cooked, and always so proud when I got to come home to a sparkling palace of my own. Not to mention when I came in general.”   
  
“Because you had me brainwashed!”   
  
“Because you liked being able to make someone happy, the very same way I like being able to make you happy. It’s in your nature to please a man, and in mine to keep a woman safe. The way I do by keeping you here.”   
  
Tamami could feel his words clawing into his mind, setting down roots, making it harder to think again.

“Tell me, isn’t it simpler this way?”   
  
“Maybe, but… it’s wrong.”   
  
“Why?”

“Because I…”   
  
“You don’t know why, do you? You can’t think of a reason besides touting that same line everyone gave you about being a man. The one that made you miserable. So much responsibility, having to be strong and push down your emotions, expected to provide for those around you… and, of course, making you feel ashamed for loving men the way a woman like you is supposed to, knowing that you belong bouncing on the cock of someone stronger than you, having kids… isn’t that a nice thought? Hasn’t it been going through your mind for years now? It’s defined your identity, wanting cock. A nice big one like mine, to stretch you until you can’t think, and fill you until it shows.”   
  
“That’s…”

“True? Every bit, from being unable to handle the burden of responsibility that comes with being a man… and living a life that revolves around cock. Even now, as you protest being a woman… doesn’t the very mention have you wet? Aren’t you just as in love with my cock as you are me? Haven’t you been looking forward to it every night? And now, you have the nice, juicy cunt you were always meant to have for me to fill, too. Aren’t you looking forward to that? To our wedding night?”   
  
Silence.

“Be honest with me… do you really hate any of this? Having a nice cock to fill you? Having a man to please, a house to clean? Are you really against the idea of having children, my children? Or do you just think you have to hate those things, on principle?”

“I… I don’t know.”   
  
“When you were ‘brainwashed’, was there really any point where you were unhappy? Or did it make you excited, to have someone like me, and to do nice things for him?”   
  
“I wasn’t… but…”

“Hush, sweetpea. You don’t have to deny it anymore. Is ‘Tadashi’ satisfied? Is ‘he’ ready to be my bride?”

Her mind is blank, for several long minutes. Whenever she reached for something, it felt like fog slipping through her fingers. 

Every protest died before it could bubble up his throat, clawing their way up just to lose footing and plummet. Every argument, pitifully weak against Tooru’s words, his reasonings. ‘But I don’t belong here.’  _ But do you want to leave? _ ‘He did this to me against my will.’  _ You never actually told him to stop, did you? _ ‘This isn’t who I am.’  _ But doesn’t it come to you so naturally? _

“Tamami,” he whispers softly in interruption, “I love you so much. Do you really not love me, too?”

Met by silence, he continues. ”Do you really want to leave? Do you really hate all that you do for me?”   
  
Bitten lips, clenched fists, and eyes that stare ahead at nothing.

“Is the idea of being with me, having our children, really so offensive to you?”   
  
Her gaze finally draws upwards, meets his own. Her hand feels at her neck, bare, naked.

“You haven’t been wearing the collar this entire time, sweet. Any thoughts are your own. If I’m convincing… it’s all because what I’m saying is true. You want someone like me to care for you, and you want to care for someone. Be a perfect little wife so someone can love you. And I do.”

He has a box.

“All of what I’ve done… is because of that. I didn’t force any of these traits on you… I just brought them out.” 

The ring is silver, with a blue stone.

“But enough of that. You just have to put this on, of your own free will, and you’ll never have to worry about anything like that again. You can settle back into that happy little routine of yours, and look forward to spending your years with a perfect man that puts that little charade you were forced into to shame. Gifts of flowers and chocolates and jewelry so you never forget how much I love that you’re my woman, passed over during a romantic candlelit dinner… by then, I’ll have finally made your pussy mine, so you can even look forward to a breeding after. I’ll get you nice and round, give you lots of boys to make you proud by growing up to be just like me, and find girls to save just like you. You can have all that… by putting this on.”

Her hands tremble as it finds a place held between two fingers.

Right there, in this one ring, is a simple life. Maybe it wasn’t hers, but it could be. She wasn’t unhappy, really. Maybe she was even happier than before. She found it exciting, to have someone like Tooru that she could devote her time to, to make smile, to please. It was… easier. Simpler. Outside, what was waiting for her? But here… she just had to live like her man likes. Be his. Wouldn’t that just be… so easy? To be his? To click into the role he had set for her, fit into it effortlessly and perfectly? 

Was it really okay?

Did she want this?

The ring fitting perfectly is her answer.

And in an instant, all her doubts were vanished away, Tadashi content to let Tooru’s fantasies and desires carry him away and fold him into Tamami, bliss overcoming him as his existence became defined by Tooru’s ideal for a perfect wife. She knew, in that moment, that she was being consumed by his greed and lust, and she didn’t mind for a moment, soon forgetting his selfishness as she settled into her new, comfortable chains. Chains that were rather unnecessary—she’d never think of leaving her wonderful man again. 

Their wedding was anything a bride could ask for, Tamami dolled up far more than she’d ever have been before. It wasn’t very big, attended just by friends of Tooru’s, all very interested in hearing about Tooru’s ‘dating advice’ (save a man whose hair made him somewhat resemble a shallot, who instead was rather busy tending to an uncomfortable looking woman with straight black hair and heavy eyelids; Tooru had informed her that given a few weeks, she’d be the first of many housewife friends). Though, she was a little too distracted to listen in, mind preoccupied by thoughts of their honeymoon night. A trip to the tropics would be nice, of course, but she was much more interested in her husband, and the way her night with him would be spent.

“Are you ready, darling?” he’d ask, as if her husband needed her permission.

“Of course, love…” she’d respond, because it’d never be her place to turn him down. 

He’d be looming over her, licking his lips as she drank in the sight of his bare chest, reveling in his masculinity. And he’d whisper to her, “Let’s make sure to get you knocked up in one go. More romantic that way, hm?”

And she would only nod weakly, breathless, as he pressed forward, into her.

She’d be bred, just like she’d been waiting for all her life, and she’d get to make Tooru feel good the way she’d always wanted to, taking his cock as best as she could, and she’d spend every moment consumed by the ecstasy inherent in knowing she belonged to him, to this handsome, strong man devoid of flaw, the perfect husband to devote her efforts to pleasing. 

Every movement would have her moaning, as Tooru’s head would dip to her breasts, licking and nipping at her nipples, leaving marks as one hand groped at them. His mouth would trail up to her neck, sucking bruises into her skin so everyone could see his ownership of her. 

And finally, finally, he’d hilt in her, and fill her with what she’s wanted, to bind them together in one final way. 

And there wasn’t a single part of her left to regret having bound her soul to his, that even in the next life, and all to follow after, Tooru would find her, and show her the same truths, no matter how many times she would allow herself to be convinced she was a man. 

**Author's Note:**

> And so Oikawa Tamami was the greatest house-slash-trophy wife history would ever know, and her sons would grow up to make other wimpy wimpy gay boys into wives. 
> 
> I'm male-aligned and exclusively into men! You can't criticize me for fetishizing homophobia! 
> 
> This... is the longest thing I've ever written. 
> 
> Hopefully, someone will read the above in the future to find that said statement is very outdated.
> 
> I'm really excited to post this, even though I think it has a few flaws... but rather than get hung up on those, I'd like to focus on the positives, and just keep the shortcomings I've counted in mind for future works! Still, please pleasePLEASE tell me what you think, the good and the bad, here, or on the number of social media accounts you can find listed in the links section of my listography!: https://listography.com/akuuni
> 
> In particular, I should mention I have a writing blog just for taking asks, and sometimes making announcements, about my writing! You can find it at bttmyama.tumblr.com! Please check it out and follow, especially since I plan on announcing my next big project sometime between now and January 1st! You could say it's my New Year's resolution! 
> 
> Please don't be shy! I'm always happy to have new people to talk dark fuckery with! Please?


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